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Literature Text
Mannequin
Cold, impersonating life
I see nothing in your dead eyes,
You are not really alive
Uncaring, unaffected by the world
I mean nothing more to you,
Than this mound of earth
Unfeeling, in thought and deed
It makes me sometimes wonder,
If you even bleed
Aloof, all alone in your mind,
I think that you belong,
In a very different time
Broken, something inside,
That you need,
Just doesn't fit right
You are nothing more than a statue,
A human fakery
And that gleam that is in your eyes,
Is just a painted sheen
You don't feel!
You're not real!
You don't know what it means!
To really live...
You wouldn't know where to begin...
You are nothing more,
Than a mannequin
jlp January 8, 2009-Revised May 25, 2010
Cold, impersonating life
I see nothing in your dead eyes,
You are not really alive
Uncaring, unaffected by the world
I mean nothing more to you,
Than this mound of earth
Unfeeling, in thought and deed
It makes me sometimes wonder,
If you even bleed
Aloof, all alone in your mind,
I think that you belong,
In a very different time
Broken, something inside,
That you need,
Just doesn't fit right
You are nothing more than a statue,
A human fakery
And that gleam that is in your eyes,
Is just a painted sheen
You don't feel!
You're not real!
You don't know what it means!
To really live...
You wouldn't know where to begin...
You are nothing more,
Than a mannequin
jlp January 8, 2009-Revised May 25, 2010
Literature
Mask
A smile conceals the wounds so deep,
Outside you laugh, inside you weep,
At night you cry yourself to sleep,
Upon a bed of broken dreams.
A tainted world of hate and lies,
Where love is gone, and laughter dies,
This rotten world before your eyes,
Is it as bad as what it seems?
Beneath the mask, it's black like sin,
But if we dig down deep within,
A beam of light, though weak and thin,
A ray of hope through darkness gleams.
Literature
Conversations in Whiskey
From a yawning metre of gents
three old men are walking abreast
in an aching park of growth;
suspended in a privilege
of blue pipe smoke and misted bread.
The promise of whiskied glass clinks
their levied memoirs, likened to
grunts of startled televisions
when a troupe of plastic buoys dream
of Vikings bartering in sweat.
The catch of an amber burn
mellows the lean sun at their backs,
despondent, as a magician
who has had his fraud seen through by
a charge of disappointed kids.
Literature
Star-Vation
They starved us as children
Creating the hunger to feed our imagination
They starved us of our answers
So we fed off the stars
Thus fueling our hunger to learn
Some of us at least
They starved us of the truth
Feeding us lies
And teaching the same
Creating our hunger and hatred
Nothing a new-born child should know
And something no animal would learn
We've been starved as children
Being fed only with deception and trickery
Creating hatred and war
Teaching the same
Things we weren't created to know
So we fed off the stars
Until they slowly faded away
Suggested Collections
The theme is "unemotional", suggested by ~13Athena
This is also being submitted for #RawEm0tion's weekly theme, this week it is "emotionless".
This is also being submitted for #RawEm0tion's weekly theme, this week it is "emotionless".
© 2009 - 2024 TheseKrimzonFlames
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